


Bloody Bel Brightleaf

by kit_meridian (kessarin)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Antiheroes, Dysfunctional Family, Human Sacrifice, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, Mystery, Original Superhero Universe, Original Universe, Plucky Teenagers, Sass, Substance Abuse, Superheroes, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kessarin/pseuds/kit_meridian
Summary: Bel wakes up alone in a cave with a stab wound healing in her chest. As she makes her way home, a voice begins whispering in the back of her mind, and she is more than usually ready for a fight. The next day, she learns that what happened to her is connected to a string of unsolved murders--and that the people who failed to kill her last time are still after her.





	1. Chapter 1

She woke in silence, lying on rough stone. From the stiffness in her muscles and the dryness of her mouth, she had been sleeping a long time. 

There was a vague, deep pain just below her left breast, like someone had squeezed her heart and let it go. She took a breath, and the pain sharpened immensely. She froze, breathing as shallowly as she could. Gradually the pain receded. 

She opened her eyes. Above her was a low stone ceiling, dimly lit. She sat up. Her bare skin dragged across the stone floor, and she realized she was naked.

Why was she naked? 

Her eyes were adjusting now. She saw that the room was round--a cave?--and lit by small golden glows, like firelight, coming from the walls. Candles? Where the hell was she?

She got her legs under her after a couple of tries. Cramps rippled from her breast to her belly as she pushed herself to her feet. She stretched carefully, loosening the muscles of her back. She’d felt like this before, often. It came with exercise. 

She stood in a circle of red dust rays, like the beams of a dying sun. The dust gritted and clung to her feet as she stepped through it. The air was chilly. She shivered.

There was a wide entrance to her left, through which she could see starlight. The entrance was too smooth and regular to be natural. This place may have started as a cave, but it had been improved by living hands.

A breeze swept through the doorway, chilling her bare skin. She needed to find some clothes. She looked around. 

The lights weren’t candles, she saw now, but oil lamps. Divots had been cut in a narrow stone ledge that circled the room at shoulder height, and these divots were full of dark red oil. Rope wicks floated in the lamps like fat drowned worms, and on each burned a sluggish flame. The oil smelled like roasting pork fat. She backed away quickly. 

Turning, she saw a mirror on the wall. It was as wide as her outstretched arms, and reached nearly to the ceiling. It didn’t look like glass. Polished metal? 

The face in the mirror was indistinct, backlit by the glow of the lamps. A young face. Brownish skin, thick black curls, black eyes, hooked nose, pierced nostril. A familiar face. Hers?

It occurred to her that she didn’t know who she was.

Then she saw the wound.

It was a dark spot just below her left breast, a hole already closing. The skin around it was smeared with some kind of rusty powder. Blood welled in the wound, but it didn’t fall--as if a small red sea had been trapped under glass. 

She touched the wound, and found it warm and wet. Blood stained her fingers. She licked it off absently.

The skin kept growing across the hole. Underneath, muscles knitted themselves quickly together. Finally the wound sealed, leaving only a silver scar. 

She ran her hands across it. The scar was raised and sensitive, but not painful. It tingled under her touch.

In three jumps, her name came back.

Bel.

Bellona.

Bellona Brightleaf. 

That was her. What was she doing here? She looked down at her naked body, and her heart beat faster. Who brought her here? Who undressed her? Who… who…

Who killed you? a voice murmured in her head.

Looking around, she found only stone walls and dim lights--nothing to identify the place except the streaks of red powder on the floor. 

She began to turn faster, sure that whoever brought her here must be waiting in the shadows. Her reflection seemed to jump at her from the mirror, a malevolent spirit. She grew dizzy as she turned, and heard her breath rising higher in her chest like an animal’s dry panting. 

She was panicking, she realized distantly. Fear lived here, in her mind and in the cave. She had to master it, or she would be lost. 

Finally she dragged herself to a stop. Silence fell behind her rasping breath. Outside, wind rattled through dry leaves. Distantly, she heard crickets. There were no footsteps, no voices. She was alone. 

She glanced at the mirror. Her reflection flickered, as if it had been looking in a different direction for a moment. Bel looked away, shuddering. She had to get out of here. 

With a last glance at the mirror, Bel started for the door. One of the oil lamps caught her eye. Should she blow them out? The thought of wildfires came to mind. She’d hate to start another one. But the smell of cooking fat when she leaned close was so nauseating that she couldn’t do it. Shivering, she left the room. It wasn’t like the cave could burn down, anyway. 

Outside the cave was a shallow entryway, with deep shadows at both ends. By the light of the full moon she saw a dirt road outside, a cliff beyond it. The air was cool and fresh, untainted by pollution. She must be far from the city. 

At the threshold, she tripped over a garbage bag full of clothes. Opening it, she found plaid sleep pants, a red hoodie, red underwear, a black tank top. Her clothes. She remembered putting them on after dinner. No shoes, wallet, or phone. Had she been taken from home? 

Dressing quickly, Bel stepped outside. The road was cool and dry underfoot. Peering over the cliff, she saw a rocky hillside, a cracked highway running far beneath it. Hopefully this track met up with that one and she’d be able to get back somehow. 

She was high in the hills. Wooded slopes rolled down into a broad valley that opened to a neon-stained sky. The city in the center was a glittering patch of lights, with fingers reaching up towards the hills but none of coming close to here. Everything for miles around her was completely dark. 

She no idea where she was, and nowhere to go for help.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel walks home and is accosted, then saved by a taxi driver.

At first Bel wasn’t even sure she was in the right city. Then she saw the giant neon palm tree over Fairweather Park, and realized she was in the hills southwest of Sabinaville. Erin had driven her out here once after a fight, leaving Bel to walk all the way back. She was a little farther out tonight, but she should be able to make it back if she kept going downhill and took the biggest roads. Depending on what time it was now, she might even get home before sunrise.

She started walking. 

It took a moment to get her stride. The wind cut through her pajama pants and shivered in her hair. The road pitched steeply down, and the cave was an eerie presence at her back. Bel expected footsteps to follow her at any second. But none came. 

At the bottom of the dirt track was the highway. Bel crossed the asphalt quickly and set out along the shoulder. The dirt was dry and firm, clearly visible in the moonlight, and relatively clean of glass and cigarette butts. Soon she was walking at an easy pace, guided by the lights of the distant city.

The walk really wasn’t that bad. The air was fresh, and the wind felt good when she’d warmed up a little bit. However long Bel had been sleeping, she felt well rested now. She was conscious, distantly, of being hungry and thirsty, but she could wait until later to eat and drink. She remembered an old trick, and put a pebble under her tongue to suck. At least her throat wasn’t as dry. 

In fact, she seemed to have new energy tonight. Her bare feet barely slowed her down--she felt invigorated, not sore or tired. Miles passed in a dream with only the wind for company. The passing landscape, the motion of the moon, the shifting night noises--all these were abstractions, not important to her. She was hardly conscious of the time that passed before she got to the city limits. 

She didn’t hit trouble until she was almost home. 

She was cutting through one of the smaller streets downtown when a yellow hatchback rolled past her, then stopped abruptly.

Foe, whispered a voice in the back of Bel’s mind. 

Bel considered turning around, but knew he’d just follow. Rolling her eyes, she kept walking.

The passenger side window rolled down. The driver was about 30, slick-haired, the kind of person you’d expect to be cruising in a yellow hatchback late at night. He leaned closer, grinning, and called over the pulsing bass, “Hey, girl, where you going?” His voice was rough, as if he’d been shouting in smoke-filled rooms.

Bel kept walking. 

“I said, where you going?” he said, louder.

“Out of your fucking life,” Bel replied, unable to stop herself.

“I got a better idea. How about you come suck my dick?”

Bel stopped. Turning, she bared her teeth. “How about I come bite it off?”

The smile fell off his face. “How about I come knock all the teeth out of your mouth?”

Her grin widened. “Fucking try me, bitch. I’ve had a long day.” 

Well, so she assumed. 

He stared at her a long moment. Then he put the car in park. 

Adrenaline sang through Bel’s blood as she shifted into a fighting stance. She hadn’t had a good fight in weeks. And if she could get this asshole to hit first, then it would unambiguously be self defense when she beat the ever-living shit out of him.

Go for the eyes and genitals, whispered the voice in her head. 

She snorted. As if she didn’t know that.

The driver got out of his car. He had an inch or two on Bel, and a decent set of gym muscles, but he didn’t move like he knew how to use them. He sidled around the car, smirking as if he had Bel right where he wanted her. 

Bel backed off a few steps, considering how to handle this one. She was 100 percent certain she could hand this fucker’s ass to him hand-to-hand, but he could be armed. She looked around for a weapon. Her eyes zeroed in on a piece of rebar lying against the wall of the building behind her. That could work. 

Before she could pick it up, another car rolled to a stop behind them. Sighing, Bel turned to assess this new threat before planning the rest of her strategy. 

The new car was a shitty gray sedan, about twenty years old. The driver, a white woman in her thirties, got out immediately. She was more handsome than pretty--a bit butch, Bel thought, in her green flannel shirt and choppy blond ponytail. She held a phone in one hand. Before Brosef could move, she took pictures of his license plate, his car, and the tableau as a whole. 

“I’m holding the dial button,” she said flatly. “Get the fuck out of here or I’m calling the cops. And putting this on Facebook.” 

“Are you fucking serious?” the man said. ”I’m not doing anything. She just--”

“Three… two… one…” the woman said.

“Jesus, all right.” He walked quickly back around his car. “Fucking bitch.” 

Watching him get in his car and drive away, Bel couldn’t tell if she regretted the missed fight or not. “Thanks,” she said dryly, when he was gone.

“No problem.” The woman gestured at her own car. “Get in.”

“Why?” said Bel, raising her eyebrows. “You want me to suck your dick, too?”

“What? No.” The woman looked disgusted. “He’ll probably circle back.”

“And why would I be safer with you? Because you’re a woman? What are you even doing out this late? Cruising for chicks?” 

The woman stared at her. “Do you not see the giant Uber sticker in the front window?” She pointed to the sticker that, yes, was pretty obvious now that Bel saw it. “I was on my way home. I’m not going to leave you out here with that guy running around, so either I’ll give you a ride home, or I can call the police to come pick you up instead.” 

Bel considered. She could just run--she knew the downtown area well enough that she could probably lose the woman easily. But now the adrenaline was fading, and she was starting to feel pretty tired. Might as well let this woman give her a ride if she was so set on it. “Fine,” she said. “But I don’t have any money, so don’t expect me to pay you.” 

“How shall I survive.” Rolling her eyes, the woman got in the car and unlocked the door for Bel.

The minute Bel sat down, her body seemed to melt into the upholstery. Exhaustion came over her all at once, like a tidal wave burying a village. “Holy shit, I’m tired.” She yawned “Didn’t realize…” 

“What are you doing out so late?” the driver said. “Barefoot in the street at four a.m.? Do you live around here?” She looked around at the decidedly non-residential street. 

Well, now at least she knew what time it was. “I was at a party up in the hills,” she said. “Passed out, got left behind. Someone took my wallet.” The lie slipped easily from her tongue. It was a good lie. It had even happened before. “Had to walk all the way back.” 

The woman nodded slowly. Bel couldn’t tell if she believed her. “Those your party clothes?”

Bel looked down at her sweaty pajamas. “It was a very casual party.” She snuggled deeper into the corner of the seat.

The woman frowned. “I can’t believe your friends just left you. If I hadn’t come along…” 

Bel laughed. “Look, lady, I appreciate the assist, but I would have been fine. I was about to hand that guy his ass.”

“Sure you were,” said the driver dryly. 

Bel felt unaccountably annoyed. “Sure I was. I’ve been recreationally beating the shit out of people since I was eight years old. Guy like that wouldn’t even have been breakfast.”

“Oh yeah?” said the woman skeptically. “What’s your fighting style?” 

“A little boxing, a little kickboxing… and a whole lot of krav maga.” Bel grinned, pantomiming an elbow strike. “Haven’t had a good workout in a long time. Actually, now that I think about it you kind of screwed me over.” 

The driver rolled her eyes. “Jeeze. All right, kid. You ever seen Fight Club?”

“‘Fight Club’ is my nickname at school.” Among others. 

The woman snorted. “Of course it is. All right, Fight Club, where am I taking you?” 

Bel gave her the address. “Don’t stalk me or anything.”

The ride passed in friendly silence. Bel gradually relaxed as she watched the familiar streets pass by. The driver kept a steady pace, humming quietly from time to time. 

Before long they were stopping in front of the townhouse Bel shared with her mother. Bel winced when she saw that the downstairs lights were all on: Erin was definitely awake. 

She started to get out. Before she could open the door, the driver handed her a white business card with an Uber logo on the front. On the back was the name Kerry Nelson and a phone number. 

“You look like a kid who gets in trouble a lot,” the driver said. “If you ever need a lift--and I mean emergencies, not like going to see your friends or something--call me. I’ll come pick you up. No charge.” 

Bel hesitated. On one hand, she knew she’d never call. On the other, she appreciated the sentiment. It was always nice to meet someone who didn’t hate her.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping the card into her pocket. “I will.”

She got out and shut the door. The driver looked like she wanted to say more, but finally she just waved and pulled away. Bel felt oddly forlorn as the taillights receded. 

Sighing, she started up the cold cement walk. Time to see how much trouble she was in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bel has a fight with her mom.

The house was silent when she got in. Bel closed the door as quietly as she could and padded down the hallway, stopping just outside the patch of light from the dining room doorway. Cautiously, she peered inside.

Her mother sat hunched over the dining room table like the Pale Man in Pan’s Labyrinth, wearing only a red silk nightgown. A half-empty glass of wine stood by her left hand. Her dark hair hung over her face, so Bel couldn’t tell whether she was awake. It was a typical posture for Erin. 

Bel glanced at the big, square painting that hung behind her mother’s chair. It was one of Erin’s earlier pieces. Though it showed talent, it was a pretty obvious homage to Klimt--if Klimt had gone for barn-door red instead of gold patchwork. The subject was a woman, hunched over a table with her head in her hands, a glass of wine spilled at her elbow. Bel didn’t know if Erin was aware of the irony or not.

She looked back at her mother. 

Foe, whispered the voice in her head.

Bel knew that. She and Erin had been foes for as long as she could remember. 

She should just go upstairs, leave her there. But Erin would be a lot crabbier tomorrow if she slept in a chair all night. Sighing, Bel entered the room. “Mom?” 

Erin’s black eyes snapped open. For a moment she looked unfocused. Then, seeing Bel, she lurched to her feet. “Where the fuck have you been?” she rasped.

“In my room,” Bel said. “Asleep.” It was a gambit, but she’d gotten away with it before.

Erin shook her head, stepping closer. “I was in your room. You weren’t there.” 

Suddenly Bel was angry. Erin had been home all night--Bel remembered her retreating to her studio around six. Whatever had happened to Bel--however she’d been taken--Erin should have known… but she clearly hadn’t emerged from her cave until long after Bel was gone. ”Why do you even care?” she snapped. “Maybe if you hadn’t been in your studio snorting coke all night you would have known if I was in the house.” 

Erin snatched up her glass and threw the wine into Bel’s face.

Cold and wet, Bel staggered back, spitting wine from her mouth and wiping at her stinging eyes. Wine rolled down her face like tears, soaking her hoodie, mingling with the sweat on her skin, leaving her soaked and shivering. “Jesus fuck, Mom! Crazy drunk bitch...” What a perfect cap to everything. All she wanted to do was sleep, but instead she’d be doing laundry and having an intensive shower. 

Erin’s eyes blazed. “Watch your mouth, you little brat. You’re in no position to talk to me that way.”

Bel forced herself to relax her clenched fists. She’d never once hit her mother since learning how to hit properly, but she was getting closer to it with every fight they had. Closing her eyes, she scrubbed at her face with her sleeve. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” she muttered. 

“I care,” Erin snapped, “because I don’t want to get another phone call at four in the morning from the police telling me you’ve been arrested--or that you’re dead.” 

Bel snorted. “Wouldn’t it be easier for you if I died? How many times have you told me I complicate your life and you never wanted me?” 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Erin said. “You always act like you’re the victim, but you have no idea what you put me through. Do you know how many people would have kicked you out of the house by now?” 

“So kick me out,” Bel snapped, though she knew she had nowhere to go if her mother called her bluff. “Make it easier on both of us.” 

Erin took a deep breath and set the wine glass down. “Look, Bellona. I don’t set a whole lot of rules for you, but when I tell you to stay in on weeknights, I don’t care who you’re sleeping with, I do not mean if you feel like it.” 

Suddenly the unfairness of the situation was too much. Bel had been home. She was sure--it was coming back now. She’d had a quiet night for once, eaten dinner and then curled up in her pajamas to watch The Twilight Zone. She didn’t know what had happened next, but it wasn’t her fault. 

And now here she stood, barefoot and exhausted in a spreading pool of wine, with Erin telling her off like she was a criminal, though she certainly never gave a shit about Bel when she was here. 

Erin waited a few moments for Bel to answer. When she didn’t, Erin sighed. “Maybe I should send you to your grandfather.”

Bel snorted. “He wouldn’t take me, but you’re welcome to try. Anything to get out of this shithole.”

Her mother raised a hand to slap her. Ducking, Bel ran out the door. 

Catching a glimpse of herself in the hallway mirror, she gasped. Her face was a mask of blood. Not blood, she reminded herself shakily. Wine. She watched it drip through her hair onto her shoulders, wondering if the hoodie was ruined. It was one of the ones she’d stolen from Miguel before he’d been arrested, and she’d be sorry to lose it. At least it was already red. She just looked like she was bleeding.

Fortunately she’d dealt with wine stains before. She took a bottle of white wine from the kitchen--spitefully choosing the most expensive one on the cupboard. Grabbing a corkscrew, she hurried upstairs. In the bathroom, she plugged the tub, laid the hoodie in the bottom, and poured the whole bottle over it. 

Throwing a stack of towels on top of the mess, Bel undressed and walked on top of it until the wine soaked through to her feet, then flipped the hoodie and repeated the process. Sloshing through the reddening water, she felt like she was wading in blood. She couldn’t tell if the stain was coming out, but it felt oddly cathartic anyway. 

Finally she unplugged the tub and turned on the shower. She washed quickly, rinsing the hoodie underfoot until the water ran mostly clear. The rising steam was thick with wine. Bel breathed it in, trying to forget everything but the smell and the feeling of hot water pulsing around her. At last she turned the water off, wrung the hoodie out, and hung it over the curtain rod to drip dry. 

As she dried off, her fingers went to the new scar under her breast, where only a few hours ago she’d seen a wound. It was perfectly smooth, completely painless. She touched the silvery skin again and again, remembering how the muscles had sealed themselves over it, how the skin had grown across it until the scar looked like it had always been there.

Bel couldn’t come to terms with it. It had seemed like a death-wound, but now she was half-convinced she’d always had the scar and just forgotten about it somehow. She felt like she was losing her mind.

Had it all been some kind of dream? Had she actually been at some drug-fueled party in the hills and passed out--was that why she couldn’t remember anything? It wasn’t unheard of. She’d done it before. But… she didn’t think so, this time. 

The house was quiet when she left the bathroom. She wondered if Erin had gone back to her studio--there was a couch there where she often slept--or if she’d just passed out at the table. 

In her room, she knew something was wrong. She froze in the doorway, shivering. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on. Just… It was too neat. That was it. Not exactly tidy, but things on the floor had been moved aside, leaving a clear path to the bed. 

Stepping cautiously through the door, Bel found that her covers had been smoothed down, her slippers tucked under her bed. Her phone was on the bedside table, the charger cable coiled neatly underneath, which she’d never have done. Whoever had kidnapped her had cleaned up after themselves. 

The window was still locked, and didn’t seem to have been forced open. Bel remembered locking the front door after she’d eaten dinner (pizza, she’d had pizza and a vegetable smoothie). Had Erin let her kidnappers in? But then she would have known where Bel had gone--or at least how she’d left. 

Arms trembling, she lowered herself back into bed. She had to sleep--she was past exhausted, couldn’t move any more tonight. But she couldn’t stop imagining them waiting outside--watching the light in her window go out, waiting for Bel to fall asleep, so they could come back and take her out again... 

She should go to the police. But they’d never believe her. She’d just have to be vigilant from here on out.

Closing her eyes, she fell asleep almost instantly.

And then she was awake, lying terrified on a stone floor, paralyzed. Chanting rose around her. An rusted sword blade descended towards her chest. Bel couldn’t stop it, couldn’t escape--could only lie paralyzed as the chanting rose to a crescendo of shouts.

The blade pushed through her skin--slid between her ribs--sank deep into her chest. A terrible pain seized her heart. It shook and shook, but couldn’t beat--and she was dying… 

Then a shock. A thunderclap. The blade shattered--disintegrated. Dust settled over her chest. Her vision whited. She fell into nothing. 

Bel gasped, eyes snapping open. 

She lay in her moonlit bed, sweat-covered but alive. She touched the scar and found it still a scar--the terrible pain had only been a memory. The room was empty. She was safe.

But she hadn’t been. 

Dead--she’d been dead--someone had killed her.

And then she had come back.


End file.
